


Slow Magic

by cassandrapentayaaaaas



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Just my favorite OC thinking about how lucky he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 06:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11891922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandrapentayaaaaas/pseuds/cassandrapentayaaaaas
Summary: Peter Trevelyan ruminates on the witching hour and a certain Antivan ambassador."It happens every night around the time the clock strikes midnight. Maybe five minutes earlier, or six minutes later, depending on who it is that stops her with a last-minute request. But just as the night begins to settle into itself, Josephine lets down her hair."





	Slow Magic

He catches himself doing it, one time. The staring.

She’s already made her rounds for the evening, with Peter at her heels; a tall shadow with a boyish grin. He’s carried that which she had no room for–bundles of paper and a mess of keys–and offered conversation all the while. It is the happiest part of his day, and when he thinks of true happiness, it is the time spent closing up Skyhold with the ambassador that springs most readily to his mind.

But when he thinks of magic, oh… When he thinks of magic, all his years in the circle and all the tomes he’s read on the subject are the last things to cross his mind. Instead, that witching hour in their quarters is what he pictures.

It happens every night around the time the clock strikes midnight. Maybe five minutes earlier, or six minutes later, depending on who it is that stops her with a last-minute request. But just as the night begins to settle into itself, Josephine lets down her hair.

It’s a waterfall. A cascade of jet-black which tumbles and bounces, like lazy water over the dark stones of a riverbed. And just as her locks fall away from their bindings, so too does time seem to fall away from itself.

She breathes out, slowly; a silent whistle through a soft ‘o’. Her shoulders fall back and so does her head, the dark curls flowing in a secondary torrent. For a moment, everything is still.

And that is when Peter stares. For what else is there to do?

He is watching magic unfold. He is watching as she exhales an entire day, leaving it to fly out the window in the night breeze. He is watching the weight of empires slip from elegant, strong shoulders–even if it is only for the span of that one breath. He is seeing something rare and beautiful.

It is Josephine in her purest, rawest form, and time and again, he is humbled by the opportunity to greet her.

He soaks up every moment of her gradual arrival. He takes in the curves of her hip and back. The roll of her shoulder and the bend of her neck. The way her skin seems to glow in the pale flicker of the candlelight. There is a shimmering serenity about her.

She opens her eyes, slowly, and he is nearly startled by how very present she is. Josephine, the woman who is always imagining a thousand different realities, is anchored so securely in this instant, wherein her eyes fix his own with no shyness or reserve. No care given to social precedents. Just a thousand words behind a hooded gaze; one for relief, another for longing, a hundred for love. It takes his breath away, and now he is the one held fast in time.

She steps towards him and a gentle smile pulls at her lips. Their’s is no longer a new romance. But a look is still enough to make his heart hammer; a giddiness rising in his chest that reminds him of Satinalia morning, as a child. Pen-calloused fingers brush his cheek as she guides him down into a lingering kiss.

When it breaks, those eyes that speak volumes flutter open and he drinks them in. Another moment that stretches into a blissful eternity–more of her slow magic.

“Tell me more about today, my darling,” she whispers before he guides her to the sofa, where they pass those wee hours of the morning tangled in a timeless present.


End file.
